


Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust

by Goddessofpredators



Series: Infinity War ficlets [3]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN INFINITY WAR, M/M, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), SO MANY SPOILERS HERE, spoilers beware
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-30 10:26:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14494926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goddessofpredators/pseuds/Goddessofpredators
Summary: One moment he's in Wakanda, and the next he's nowhere, before all at once he's somewhere again.





	Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust

**Author's Note:**

> Not exactly a fix-it, but more of my personal thoughts on what may have happened

One moment he’s in Wakanda, fighting for his life and a million others with a primal rage he never thought he'd have to feel burn inside himself again, and the next he's nowhere, fading, before all at once he's somewhere again.

He stumbles a little at the sudden feeling of solid ground beneath his feet, holds his hands out to steady himself and pauses for a breath.

He's still breathing. It's all he can hear, harsh and sharp and shaky in his ears, loud against the yawning silence.

He reaches up to touch his cheek, pats over his chest and smoothes his hands down his arms, the both of them. Everything's still there. No ashes, no dust, just flesh and metal and vibranium laced Kevlar. It doesn't make sense, in the same way a talking gun toting raccoon doesn't make sense- but he still saw one of those, didn't he?

Bucky inhales, unsteady and halting, licks his lips and cautiously lifts his eyes from his body to check his surroundings. He’s met with a sea of oranges and yellows and golds; this isn't Wakanda, that much is obvious. To the left the colors seem to go on forever, and to his front and his right it seems to be the same. A never ending sunset on all sides.

There's nothing out there, no buildings or trees or roads or cars. No people. No Steve.

He's alone.

Bucky's bottom lip quivers, just a bit, just enough to betray his emotion before he sinks his teeth in deep to stop it and turns his head, searching for something, anything. Anyone.

Nothing, until a sudden movement in the corner of his eye makes him jerk himself around and come face to face with a woman. Not a human woman, at least, not with her green skin and pink tinted hair, but it's better than nothing.

She's standing under an awning of sorts and watches him with wide saucer eyes, lips parted and muscles tense. They stare at each other for a moment, taking each other in; Bucky’s not entirely certain he's not hallucinating her right now. He's not entirely certain he's not hallucinating all of this.

He meets her eyes; they hold a deep, gut wrenching sorrow that sends a chill down his spine, and her mouth parts on a soft whispered, “Oh, no.”

He doesn't know what that means, or why she looks so bone-deep petrified when he's pretty sure he's never seen her before in his life, but when he opens his mouth to respond he's cut off by the sound of his own name.

“Barnes?”

He knows that voice plain as day, which relieves him as much as it deepens the pit in his stomach that much more. He spares one last look at the woman before he turns his back to her (a foolish move, he knows, to be that vulnerable with a potential enemy, but if he's already dead there's not that much more she could possibly do.) to face T’Challa.

The other man stands there with his hands out in front of him, fingers spread like he's checking to make sure they're really his own and looking just as confused as Bucky feels.

“T’Challa,” Bucky mumbles as he makes his way towards the King. T’Challa tenses, eyebrows furrowed.

“Barnes,” he says again, glancing up to look Bucky in the eye. “Is it you?”

“It’s me,” Bucky agrees, wrapping a gentle hand around T’Challa’s wrist to let him feel that he’s real, he’s solid and there. Bucky grimaces a smile. “The one and only. You okay?”

T’Challa watches him for a moment, but his posture relaxes, shoulders slumping as that crease between his brows smoothes itself out. He nods to himself and looks around. “I think so, yes.”

A beat.

T’Challa stares at his hands, curls his fingers up into tight fists and sighs.

“I don't suppose you know where we are?” He asks in a tone that tries to be light and fails.

Bucky makes a face and releases T’Challa’s wrist, opens his mouth to answer when something else catches his attention. Over T’Challa’s shoulder, some feet away, stands a man, disoriented and swaying on his feet as he looks around with wild eyes. Bucky'd recognize him anywhere, much as he'd hate to admit it.

“Sam?”

Sam’s head swivels around to face him and he pauses for a moment.

“Bucky?” Sam calls after a beat, sounding half hysterical.

Bucky raises his hand in a meek little wave as Sam makes his way over, and T’Challa turns to watch him approach.

“Your Highness,” Sam greets with a shallow dip of his head once he reaches them, and T’Challa responds in kind.

Sam glances between the both of them for a moment, crosses his arms over his chest and stands flabbergasted before them.

“Does anyone,” Sam says, finally taking a moment to look around at their starburst surroundings, “Want to tell me what in the _fresh hell_ is going on?”

Bucky opens his mouth, but really, what does he know? He's as in the dark as the rest of them, so he holds his arms out and shrugs with raised brows, hoping it encompasses the ‘ _I have absolutely no fucking clue_ ’ expression he was aiming for.

Sam scowls, wrinkles his nose up and glances around. He looks ready to say something when a garbled, “I am Groot!” cuts him off, and all three of them spin around to find a tree (the same one that'd come with the raccoon and Steve’s god friend, Bucky notices) stumbling into existence, long vines and roots reached out to help it keep itself - himself? - upright.

More movement to the side makes Bucky turn his head; the green skinned woman from before stands facing the tree, and if Bucky thought she'd looked terrified when he saw her it doesn't hold a candle to the anguish on her face now; her hand comes to cover her mouth and she seems frozen in place for a second before her feet start to move, making long, hurried steps towards the tree until she’s close enough to reach out and rest a hand on its rough, woody cheek.

“Groot,” Bucky hears her whisper, catching the way it come strangled out of her throat, choked with emotion.

There's more voices, then, to Bucky’s right, and this time when everyone turns there's two people standing there, another woman - not human either, judging by the, what are those, antennae? - and a man who looks the most human of the bunch.

Bucky blinks, turns to look at Sam and T’Challa, questioning, to see if they're seeing all this too, and when he looks back there’s yet another man standing there with gray skin and tattoos all over his body and face

The three newcomers watch each other for a beat, and when the human man finally looks away and catches sight of the green skinned woman, he freezes. No one moves, no one speaks, until the mans face crumbles and his hand twitches by his side like he wants to reach out but can't.

“Gamora?” He breathes on a wobbly exhale.

The rest of his group are staring at her, too, awe on their face, disbelief in their eyes. The green skinned woman - Gamora, apparently - just looks sad.

“Not you too,” is all she says, soft.

Bucky watches them with creased brows; Gamora, for all intents and purposes, seems to know what's going on here, or at least understands enough where he understands nothing. He parts his lips to speak up, eyeing the way Gamora and the man are dancing around each other like an intricate ballet when something else happens and Sam, behind him, swears and starts to hurriedly move away.

“Wanda!” Sam calls, and when Bucky turns his head she's standing there a few feet away with blank eyes and a blank face. It takes Sam calling her name again, touching his fingers to her shoulder before she reacts.

She jumps, just a little, and lifts her head to face him with a crackled, “Sam?”

“Jesus,” Sam swears.

Bucky watches him give her a once over, whispering gently to her all the while. Poor girl looks a hair's breadth from collapsing on the ground in a puddle of tears, but she holds herself strong and keeps her chin up even when her lip begins to tremble.

Bucky turns his head away to spare a glance at T’Challa and they share a look, a million questions flying between them in the space of a second.

There's a sound off to his side.

Everything’s happening so hard and fast Bucky almost doesn't register it. It's quiet, barely there, but unmistakable all the same; someone sobs and heaves in a wet, shuddering breath.

“M-mister Stark…?”

Oh, _no_. Bucky spins around to face the voice and finds the bug boy - Spider-Man, but Jesus, he’s just a goddamn _kid_ \- stood stock still a few feet to his left. His whole body shakes like a leaf in the wind and his eyes and cheeks are puffy and painted a ruddy red; his shoulders hitch, and he stumbles forwards like he can't keep his balance.

“Shit,” Bucky hisses and moves quickly towards the kid, arms outstretched. “Hey, hey, hey, it's okay- you're okay.”

The boy lurches and Bucky catches him in his arms when he falls forwards, burying his face in Bucky's dirty chest and letting out a strangled cry.

“Mister-mister Stark- mister- _oh god_ ,” he chokes out.

Bucky flinches and rests his flesh hand on the back of the kid’s neck; why of all people did this have to happen to _him_? What the hell did a kid do to deserve this?

The boy gasps, clings to Bucky with every ounce of his strength like he's scared he'll disappear if he lets up an inch.

“Am I dead?” He whispers, and Bucky blanks for a second. He doesn't know how to answer that.

“I don't want to be dead,” the kid continues; he sounds fucking pitiful. “Please, _please_ , don’t let me be dead- I don’t- _I don’t want to be dead_ , _please_ \- please, d-don’t let me be dead-”

“Hey, hey, shhh,” Bucky soothes, wrapping his arm tight around the kid’s shoulders and pulling him in close. “You’re okay, you’re fine, alright? I've got you, you're fine.”

The kid shudders, teeth chattering when he closes his mouth, but he calms down little by little. He refuses to let go of bucky’s clothes, but Bucky can't bring himself to mind; he just rocks, gently, side to side, side to side, like he remembers doing for his sisters a lifetime ago.

The kid sniffles a little and turns his head, planting his cheek against Bucky's chest.

“Where are we?” He rasps out after a moment's silence.

Bucky huffs. He'd sure as hell like to know.

It’s Gamora who answers.

“You’re inside the Soul Stone,” she says, and is met with confused looks and a chorus of ‘what?’s.

She sighs; she looks so tired, so numb.

“He did it, didn't he? Thanos?” She asks. “He won.”

She looks out over the sea of faces before her, watches them grimace and flinch and nods to herself.

“When Thanos snapped his fingers it activated all six stones including the Soul Stone. The Soul Stone collects souls, both from those of the living and those of the dead; when it sucks in those souls it traps them inside itself in its own little pocket world, which is where we all are right now.”

“So we’re not dead,” Wanda pipes up, deadpan, and it's less of a question and more stating a fact.

“We can't be dead,” the man in the red jacket near Gamora says. “I mean, we feel things, right? You can't feel things when you're dead.”

Gamora gives him a look, just as the gray skinned man beside him reaches up and whacks him on the back of the head loud enough that Bucky can hear the ‘ _smack_ ’ it makes plain as day from where he’s standing. The man in the red jacket sputters, grabbing the back of his head and stumbling forward a step, and turns to face the gray skinned man once he regains his balance with an expression of utter offense.

“ _Dude_ , what the hell?!”

“You said if you were dead you would not feel,” the gray skinned man says, matter-of-fact. “You felt that?”

The man in the red jacket scoffs.

“Of course I felt that, you idiot, it wasn't exactly a love tap!”

The gray skinned man nods. “So then you are not dead.”

The man in the red jacket stares at him for a moment and then looks to Gamora, gesturing at the gray skinned man like she could do something about it. Gamora rolls her eyes and turns away.

“You're not dead,” she continues, addressing everyone, “But you're not exactly alive, either. The Soul World is more like a state of limbo, so at the moment you're all stuck in between.”

The kid shifts against Bucky’s front at that moment and lifts his head, pausing to sniff and wipe at his eyes before he speaks.

“Can we go back? Home?” He asks, voice wavering, but he straightens himself out, squares his shoulders and holds his head high. Bucky feels a pang of something deep in his gut at that, remembers seeing that look on someone smaller and blond after a back alley brawl, stubborn and defiant as always; he feels a new respect towards the kid and lets him step out of his arms, keeping a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

The kid catches his eye and smiles, just a tiny, vague hint of a thing, but it's a smile all the same and one Bucky happily returns.

The kid turns back to Gamora.

“Is there a way out of here?”

“Theoretically, yes,” comes another voice from the side, and everyone looks to see a man draped in blue cloaks and a cape making his way towards them.

Bug-boy lights up a little, gasping.

“That's the wizard!” he whispers, as if Bucky would have any idea what that means.

Wizard-man stops a few feet away from the rest of them, looks around and dips his head slightly.

“Stephen Strange,” he introduces, and Bucky nods his head back. The kid waves.

“As I was saying,” Strange continues, “We could be released back into our own realm of existence, but only if the wielder of the stone wants us to; they have all the control here, not us."

Sam, from where he stands between Wanda and T’Challa, scoffs.

“Yeah, well, last I saw big, purple and ugly wasn't too keen on us existing in the first place, so I doubt _that'll_ happen.”

“But,” Bucky cuts in, “If someone else got their hands on the gauntlet they’d have the ability to let us out and set everything back to normal?”

Strange nods, confirming with a soft, “Yes. Whoever uses the Soul Stone has full control over the stones abilities and the souls inside it, so if someone with good intent got their hands on it,” he shrugs. “They'd be able to do whatever they wanted, which includes bringing us back.”

“So we just have to hope that someone who's left on earth can get ahold of the gauntlet and set us free,” Wanda says, picking at the skin of her fingertips. The man in the red jacket fidgets.

"But what if they don't?" He asks.

Things go silent for a beat after that.

"Then,” Strange begins, solemn, “More than likely, we'll be trapped here for all eternity."

That drops a weight in everyone's shoulders; the concept of never going home. Never seeing their loved ones again, never hearing their voices.

 _Never seeing Steve smile_ , Bucky thinks in a moment of dread, _never feeling Steve's skin against his own._

Everyone looks around at their companions, takes each other in, and a blanket of something, determination and rage, a raw need to get back what’s theirs, settles over them all.

Bucky looks back to Strange with a set jaw. "So what do we do?"

Strange inhales.

"We wait."


End file.
